


In These Last Days, We Prayed For Light

by violent_ends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angelic Lore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Ella Lopez, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Cute Trixie Decker, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Gen, Hearing Voices, Insecure Lucifer, Lucifer Redemption, Near Death, POV Lucifer, Poisoning, Poor Trixie Decker, Post-Season/Series 04, Trixie Decker & Lucifer Morningstar Bonding, Trixie Decker & Lucifer Morningstar Friendship, Winged Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 11:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: Lucifer is back from Hell and everyone knows who he is. But the path to self-forgiveness is long, and when he's asleep, voices still whisper in his ear and his Devil wings sneak up on him. What if, much like his angel wings have healing powers, his Devil wings had a deadly power instead? And what if he were to find out in the worst way possible?“Oh wow, that is so pointy!” Trixie cuts him off, staring up at the long black claw that bends down from the upper end of the wing. “Is it sharp?”“No, Beatrice, don’t-"Trixie touches it.





	In These Last Days, We Prayed For Light

_Tap, tap, tap._

Lucifer is a light sleeper ever since he came back from Hell, where silence from the screams of the damned and the snickering laughter of demonic torturers was a luxury unless he could manage to sleep on his throne, which he couldn’t (comfort above all else, although even in his hellish bedroom the bed was actually a cold slab of grey stone). So, all things considered, it’s not a surprise when small, uncertain feet padding along the wooden floor of Chloe’s bedroom wake him up one early Sunday morning.

What surprises him, instead, is the awed expression he finds on Trixie’s face when he opens one eye and sees her standing next to the bed, the child staring at a point a little higher than his back. Sprawled on his stomach next to the Detective’s still sleeping figure, Lucifer lifts himself up a little bit on his elbows and that’s when he feels their weight pressing down on his shoulders: his wings are out. But not... not the ones he was born with.

He’s doing an amazing job with Linda, if he may say so himself: an exhausting but rewarding journey of self-acceptance and forgiveness. The only problem is that, when he’s asleep, his mind can’t really catch up with his epiphany – meaning that sometimes, he wakes up to find devil wings sprouting from his back and he has to fold them back inside, concentrate and will them to turn into feathers instead. It always works, which is just dandy, but the ordeal is a bit of a nuisance (the Detective doesn’t say anything but he also knows waking up with a gigantic bat wing hanging over your face isn’t as peaceful as the other possibility).

Trixie has never seen them, not these ones. Well, until now. He’s just about to make them disappear when the spawn raises herself on her tiptoes and reaches up to trace the outline of the leathery appendage that is closer to her, drooping over her tiny figure and all the way to the nightstand like the roof of a tent. Lucifer flinches, holding his breath.

“I wanted to watch the morning cartoons but the remote isn’t working" the Detective’s offspring tells him, as if the reason for her presence somehow also justifies what she’s currently doing. “Why are these... why are they so different?”

The sky is slowly welcoming the light of day and from the window, a timid ray goes straight through his wing and paints Trixie’s face a dark red, reflecting the intricate web of veins on her curious features. _Genuinely_ curious, as always. It still baffles him sometimes, how Trixie ended up being the one who made less of a fuss about him than anyone else. That’s why Lucifer doesn’t talk to her like she’s a child, especially not in these moments, despite the fact that her pyjamas have unicorns on them and that she still sleeps with stuffed animals in her bed (_Darling, if you truly want an alpaca in your room, just say the word, I know a guy_).

“They change only when I don’t like myself, urchin" he explains, propping his chin up on his palm, whispering as not to wake the Detective. “Which isn’t really the case anymore, but... I guess I’m not really in control of it when I’m asleep.”

She frowns, lowering her hand at her side.

“You should _always_ like yourself, Lucifer" she tells him in a stern tone. “You are awesome.”

“I know, right?” he agrees, arching one eyebrow in amusement. “Step back now, so I can-"

“Oh wow, that is so pointy!” Trixie cuts him off, staring up at the long black claw that bends down from the upper end of the wing. “Is it sharp?”

She reaches up with her index finger, and although Lucifer doesn’t know the answer from experience, it seems kind of obvious that it’s a yes. He panics.

“No, Beatrice, don’t-"

Trixie touches it. Lucifer expects her to jump back in pain or clutch at her hand in shock or suck her finger into her mouth to soothe the sting. What he doesn’t expect is to see the child’s eyes close immediately and her body drop to the floor as if she just fainted from exhaustion. In an instant, he puts his wings away and scrambles off the bed to kneel at her side.

“Beatrice?” he calls, shaking her by the shoulder. “_Beatrice_?”

“What’s going on?” Chloe asks in a gasp from behind him, jolting awake at the sound of his worried voice. “Is Trixie okay?”

Just answering the question feels painful.

“I- I don’t know" he realizes in horror, his hand hovering in the air, shaking. _What have I done?_

_What you always do_, answer the voices inside his head, sudden and unbidden. _Ruin everything you touch._

They startle him, because they don’t make themselves known anymore, not while he’s awake. He learned how to ignore them and shut them out, until they finally stopped manifesting themselves altogether. Lucifer shakes his head and brushes off his momentary relapse to stay focused. He hears Chloe throw herself off the bed and run around it to find her daughter on the floor in front of him.

“Oh my G- What happened?” she gasps, dropping to the floor to take the child in her arms. Lucifer can see that Trixie is breathing, looking like she’s just peacefully sleeping, but it’s obviously not enough to calm him down because he clearly must have done... _something_ to her.

“She touched the tip of my wing" he whispers, staring blankly ahead of him, trying to put the pieces together but they still don’t seem to fit. “Not the angel wing. The other one.”

He glances at Chloe to see that her brow is furrowed in confusion, missing the connection between what he said and what seems to be a consequence of it. She looks back down at Trixie and brushes her daughter’s hair away from her forehead, then gently slaps at her cheek with nervous breaths.

“Monkey? Monkey, wake up now" she prompts, but nothing happens. Chloe turns a bit frantic. “Come on, baby, this game isn’t funny, okay? Open your eyes, I promise I won’t be mad.”

It’s not a game. It’s not a prank. Trixie isn’t waking up.

As if in a trance, Lucifer stands up from the floor and walks to the side of the bedroom door to turn the light on, as if acknowledging that the day has officially begun and that it clearly requires their full attention. That’s when he sees it, pressed between Trixie’s stomach and her mother’s chest as she holds her. The tip of the girl’s index finger, the one she touched the wing with, is black. He swallows.

“I'm calling Amenadiel" he says.

*

His brother arrives half an hour later. Chloe has carried Trixie to the living room couch and is pacing back and forth in front of it in a light T-shirt and sweatpants, messy ponytail bouncing behind her. When the doorbell rings, Lucifer goes to open the door silently, knowing she has no intention of leaving her daughter's side for too long.

Amenadiel greets him with a grave, serious nod before walking in, followed by a wide-eyed Linda (“We left Charlie with the nurse", she explains as she enters) and, even more surprising, an angry-looking Maze – oh, right, she still lives with them which is definitely not weird. Lucifer is pretty sure a threesome would have happened already if it wasn’t for his half-angelic nephew’s tendency to keep them all awake for nights on end (he knows it because it’s _all_ they ever talk about these days, enforcing his strong opinion against _new_ children).

“What the hell did you do to her?” the demon yells at him once she’s past the door, shoving at his now covered chest. Lucifer lets her, closing his eyes for a moment and tensing up not to stumble backwards from the push.

“I don’t _know_, Maze. That’s why I called, well, not _you_.”

She bristles.

“Are you telling me to leave?!”

“Guys, guys!" Linda intervenes, stepping between them with her hands up in a calming gesture. “Throwing blame around is not going to help. Come on, let’s see what we can do, okay?”

Reluctantly, Maze shoots Lucifer a glare and follows the therapist inside. Lucifer closes the door and trails behind them, keeping himself at a distance by leaning against a wall of the living room. For some reason, he can’t stand to walk any closer. It might have something to do with the fact that the Detective hasn’t looked at him since she moved the child to the couch. He has been restraining himself from hugging her this whole time.

Even from where he’s standing, though, he can see that the blackness has now spread all the way to the base of Trixie’s index finger. His guests all gasp in shock when they notice, then Maze kneels next to the sofa to inspect it, Amenadiel leans closer with a worried expression, and Linda finally manages to stop Chloe’s pacing by wrapping her up in a hug.

“I've never seen anything like it" Amenadiel says, ever helpful.

“But- but you’ve been alive for, well, forever!” Chloe exclaims, turning around in Linda’s embrace. “Surely you must know what it is and how to fix it!”

“Maybe we should get her to a hospital" Linda suggests, although she doesn’t look so sure herself. “That kinda looks like gangrene, or frostbite.”

“Whatever this is, it’s not from this world" Mazikeen replies, gently prodding at Trixie’s finger with her back to everyone else. Still, Lucifer can sense her hesitation before she continues, “Maybe we could try and... scrape it off? With one of my demon knives?”

“Yeah, _no_” Chloe scoffs with a manic chuckle, pointing a resolute, threatening finger at the demon. “No one is scraping anything off of anyone, and besides, this isn’t just about the _finger_. We have to wake her up!”

They all stare at each other in silence, still clueless about what to do to make it happen. Lucifer tries to meet the Detective’s gaze, letting her know that all he needs is a nod and he will step closer, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to look at him. That she _can’t_. He doesn’t exactly feel like blaming her, as a renewed flare of self-hatred heats up the skin of his left hand. He shoves it in the pocket of his trousers without looking at it and wills the red to go away, but doesn’t check again to know the outcome.

“Come to think of it, you know what it looks like?” Linda pipes up to fill the increasingly long and painful silence. “Like she touched something venom- _Oooh_.”

She looks at Lucifer in understanding, and his breath gets stuck in his throat, because he got it, too.

“What?” Chloe asks, disentangling herself from Linda’s hold to look at her. “_What?_”

Linda stares at Lucifer for another long moment, as if looking for permission, but he finds himself unable to speak. He realizes he hasn’t at all, since they arrived. The therapist swallows audibly.

“Well, you see, Lucifer’s old name, Sama-“

“_Don't_” Lucifer croaks, his left hand closing into a fist inside his pocket (and yes, he can feel claws against his palm) as he shuts his eyes tight and inhales sharply. “Please, don’t say it.”

_Samael_, provide the voices, mocking and snickering in delight. _Samael. Samael. Samael. Can't you hear us, Samael?_

Linda nods at him, her expression apologetic, before rephrasing, “Lucifer’s old name means _Venom of God_. I guess... quite literally, now?”

Chloe’s eyes widen in horror. She finally looks at him, but Lucifer doesn’t feel relieved at all. He wishes the ground could swallow him and drag him back to Hell by his feet.

“You... you poisoned Trixie?” the Detective whispers, tears of anger and torment pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know my wings could do that!” Lucifer chokes out, pushing himself off the wall to take a few long strides toward her, unable to stay far anymore, desperate with the urge to comfort her. “It was an accident, I swear!”

He focuses on her with intent until he feels the skin of his hand go back to normal, then opens his arms to hug her. Chloe lets him pull her close, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Lucifer’s arms come to rest on her back. He feels her take a shuddering breath before she speaks, quietly.

“You should have been more careful" she whispers brokenly, before tightening her jaw and bringing her hand down to hit his chest in a punch void of any real strength, just angry. “You should have stopped her, Lucifer! You shouldn’t have let her!”

_You shouldn’t have been there to begin with._

“I know" he agrees in anguish between panting breaths, letting her vent her frustration against his chest, not moving an inch while she desperately thumps at it and cries. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He welcomes her back in his embrace when she stops, suddenly drained, her head under his chin and her arms around his middle. Lucifer kisses her hair and holds her until the hiccups die down, only now remembering that everyone is staring at them.

Once Chloe seems calm enough, Amenadiel takes it as his cue to speak, his trademark I-am-Daddy’s-favorite-son expression plastered on his face.

“Well, never fear, everyone. Amena-dad has the solution.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes but can’t find it in himself to comment on the ridiculous nickname, so he just stares as Amenadiel gestures for everyone to give him space. Once they do, he spreads his grey wings behind his back and bends one toward his torso to pluck a feather off of it.

“Wooow" Linda sighs from where she’s standing next to Lucifer and Chloe. Turning his head toward her, Lucifer arches one eyebrow at her.

“No kinky wingplay between the two of you, I gather?” he can’t help but ask, hoping it will lighten the mood at least for a moment. Despite the circumstances, even the Detective stifles a chuckle against his chest (because of course, she knows what he’s talking about, and in vivid detail).

“Nope" Linda tells him with an innocent smile, pushing her glasses further up her nose as if to look professional, despite the fact that they are not in session. “Just co-parenting a celestial-human hybrid with the help of a demon from Hell. You know, the usual. _Ha ha._”

The tension seems to lessen in the air, but increases again when Amenadiel puts his wings away and kneels down next to the couch. He looks pretty confident though – well, doesn’t he always – so even Chloe herself seems to have relaxed a bit, comforted by her knowledge of angelic healing powers.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try this yourself, Luci" Amenadiel says absentmindedly, his hand now hovering above Trixie’s sleeping figure. He frowns. “Wait, why didn’t you?”

Lucifer tenses up. Chloe pulls back to look at him. He opens his mouth to speak but has to clear his throat before answering.

“Because they wouldn’t... come out that way" he croaks. “Not with the way I- not right now.”

_Not with the way I hate myself for this_, he meant to say, and they all know it.

“Oh, Lucifer" Chloe whispers, cupping his cheek – her touch almost shatters him, but he leans into it, shaking. “You don’t have to-"

“Can we postpone the therapy session and get on with it?!” Maze cuts her off, her hands in the air, and well, she might actually be right this time despite her lack of tact.

“Okay, here we go" Amenadiel announces, before finally placing his feather on Trixie’s blackened finger.

As if they choreographed it, they all step closer to the couch, surrounding it. The feather glows and brightens up more and more with each passing second, its light reflecting on everyone’s faces as they stare in apprehension. Then, the glow retreats and dies down. Underneath, the child’s finger is still just as black as a moment ago.

“Why didn’t it work?” Linda asks, looking at all of them in turn to search for an answer that clearly eludes them.

“I don’t understand" Amenadiel whispers in defeat as he stands up. He leaves the feather where it is for good measure, but nothing happens, so after a moment he removes it and stuffs it in one of his pockets.

“So- so what now?” Chloe speaks up, turning around to look at Lucifer with a hopeful expression that borders on crazy, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “What’s the new plan?”

Lucifer shivers as another plan, from what seems like a lifetime ago, suddenly makes itself known inside his head. He can’t believe the words he is about to say out loud, can’t believe that he _has to_, that all of this is actually happening because of his hated devil form.

“Even if she... even if something _happens_,” he corrects himself, shuddering, “we can send Amenadiel up to the Silver City to, uhm... get her... back.”

Chloe stares at him as if he just grew a second head, which if they look at the bigger picture that is their life, probably isn’t so farfetched considering he just poisoned his girlfriend’s daughter with the tip of his wing. Because he’s _still_ Samael, after everything. He’s still what his Father intended him to be. Venom. Disease. Punishment, even though there is no one to punish here if not himself.

_Venom, venom, venom, venom_, chants a haunting echo in his mind.

“Please, Luci, don’t put me in such a position" Amenadiel counters, almost offended. “The Silver City isn’t Hell! People are happy there, it would be wrong to snatch one soul away!”

Lucifer is way past caring about what is right and what is wrong (scratch that, he never really cared), plus it’s a fat steaming load of bollocks.

“Oh, come now, brother!” he scoffs, hating that he has to go down this road, but if he has to insist to convince him, so be it. “Eve wasn’t all that happy when she snuck out, now, was she? The urchin is too unique for that dull place, she’ll get bored in no time!”

His brother glares at him and crosses his big arms over his chest.

“It would anger Father and you know it” he says with that unbearable, holier-than-thou expression of his. “It’s not right to play with human souls like that!”

“Says the angel who brought a man back from the dead so he could _murder_ me.”

“For Dad’s sake, Lucifer, will you ever stop bringing that up when it’s convenient to you?!”

“I don’t-“

“Could you maybe stop talking about letting my daughter die so you can later resuscitate her? I would really appreciate it” Chloe cuts Lucifer off, shooting imaginary daggers at both of them with her eyes. They both open their mouths to say something, but quickly decide against it and turn silent.

“Yeah, I'm with Chloe here” Linda adds, taking advantage of the opening. “Besides, Trixie’s body might look slightly... different, by the time you put her soul back in it.”

Chloe cringes visibly at the implication. Lucifer knows he could suggest dropping the child’s soul in another body, but for some reason he doesn’t think the idea would be received well. And to be honest, the thought of waiting for whatever this thing is to run its course is terrifying: if all they can do in such a situation is leave Chloe by her daughter’s side to wait for the worst, they are nothing but failures, nothing but _trouble_, to her. Hell, maybe they are.

“It wouldn’t work anyway" Mazikeen says all of a sudden – she’s been so quiet that Lucifer almost forgot she was here, and only now he notices that she’s been kneeling in front of the couch again to study Trixie’s finger. He doesn’t like her tone at all. It sounds final, like the death sentence that it probably is.

Maze takes a deep breath, stands up, turns around and continues, “I think it’s demon skin. The one I would have if I stopped hiding it. And if I’m right, Trixie... will die soulless, like me. She won’t go anywhere at all.”

Lucifer doesn’t even have time to process it (does he really want to?) before Chloe bursts into a frenzied fit of panic and fury.

“No, no, no, no, you- you need to fix this!” she orders, frantically pointing a finger at each of them. “Right now!”

Amenadiel seems to be the only one who can offer a sliver of hope, when he tentatively says, “Let me go to the penthouse, Chloe, maybe I’ll find something in the Scriptures or in one of Lucifer’s ancient books.”

Chloe’s face twists into a mask of bitter resentment, one Lucifer isn’t sure he has seen before. It doesn’t suit her, and he hates that he put it there – it takes all of his willpower to stop spikes of charred, chipped bone from erupting from his back, to force his devil wings not to come out.

“If this is the best you can do, you may as well go and do it" she declares, tone full of spite and disappointment, despite how the Detective side of her would certainly applaude and embrace the prospect of some good, old-fashioned research as a way to look for clues and solve a case. But she is just a mother now, Lucifer knows, and her heart is breaking.

“Two angels, a demon and the Devil’s therapist, and you have _no idea_ about what this is” she concludes coldly, walking backwards to distance herself from Lucifer, from everyone. They lower their heads in shame, silent. Well, most of them.

“In my defense, that qualification doesn’t really help me here, Chloe" Linda clarifies. “I mean, at the end of the day I'm only human, like you.”

Chloe sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger with her eyes closed.

“Just- get out" she hisses when she opens them again, then louder, “Get out of my house! Get away from my daughter! Get the hell out, _all of you!_”

_Do her a favor, for once. Listen to her and don’t come back_, the voices whisper in his ear, and this time, it’s too much.

Lucifer is the first to stumble backwards and toward the door, as if Chloe just slapped him in the face, because she might as well have. His hands shake as he gathers his phone and car keys from the bowl at the entrance. He casts one last heartbroken glance at Trixie, then at Chloe, but she has already turned her back on everyone to tend to her daughter even though there is nothing she can do. _She’s only human._ Her shoulders tremble, and Lucifer has to look away.

They all file out of the house in silence, their heads low. Linda tells him she’ll drop Amenadiel at the penthouse (the prick couldn’t be bothered to learn how to drive and relies on public transport – so pedestrian) before heading home with Maze, and that the two of them will also look for a solution in the meantime, on the Internet or at the public library.

“Do you think we should talk to a priest or an exorcist of some kind?” the therapist inquires before they all go their separate ways. Lucifer has to stifle an allergic reaction at the thought, entirely unrelated to his pesky Devil bits.

“Sure, that turned out just peachy the last time around" he deadpans, before realizing that at the end of the day, this isn’t about him. “But if you think you can ask without making anyone too suspicious, sure, Doctor. Ask away.”

Linda doesn’t seem convinced, but nods and keeps walking.

“If anything goes wrong, I'll kill you" Mazikeen snarls in his face with barely contained tears in her tone, finger poking at his chest, before storming off to follow the other two to the car they all arrived in.

“I might actually let you" Lucifer whispers to himself, watching them go.

He fumbles with his keys blindly, staring ahead, and sits inside the Corvette for a long minute, head on the steering wheel and hands tight in his lap. He doesn’t even need to look down. They are _burning_.

*

Despite leaving after Linda, Lucifer is the first to arrive at his apartment’s building (his therapist drives like a 70-year-old woman, so he can only imagine Mazikeen’s frustration during the ride). He has the time to regain control of his appearance (barely) and drink a full bottle of scotch by the time his brother steps in from the elevator’s doors, raising a judgemental eyebrow at him.

“Don’t take offense, brother, you’re more than welcome to join the pity party" Lucifer sulks from the couch, but when Amenadiel ignores him to start removing old leathery books from the shelves behind him, he stands up and joins him to help.

Soon, there are old tomes everywhere, on the glass table and on the surface of the sofas, but Lucifer’s pit of despair only gets deeper as he reads. Preposterous, is what they are, and we’re not even talking about the Bible itself. Legends about bridges he allegedly built to collect the souls of the locals as payment for crossing; about priests he apparently turned to stone piles on the cliffs of Devon; virgins he demanded as gifts to cut deals with sinners. As if he ever needed any help to convince a woman to sleep with him, deflowered or not.

“This is just a bunch of bloody nonsense, brother" he mutters, sitting on one couch with a book about Scandinavian folklore in his lap. “I don’t even know why I keep these lying around.”

“I know, just- keep reading" Amenadiel replies from where he sits across from him, not even lifting his eyes from the yellowed page he’s looking at.

Lucifer sighs, feeling like this is a major waste of time. There is nothing here to help the Detective’s offspring, nothing to fix the mess he made, because no one has ever gotten it right about him, about what he does and why he does it. And why would they find information about his wretched devil wings, when only recently he assumed his full form? Would they be so lucky as to find a prophecy that clearly states _When the Devil sleeps in his first love's bed, her daughter shall be mortally stung_, complete with a useful list of antidote ingredients? No, he doesn’t think so.

His eyes wander around the room in frustration, until they land on the box he keeps on the table at all times. Maze left one of her demon knives in it for him, just in case a not-so-friendly celestial ever decides to pay him a visit. He gulps down what is left of the scotch in his tumbler and stares at it intently.

_Cut, cut, cut, cut._

Of course, he knows they will grow back. The next time he feels hatred toward himself (and it won’t take long judging by how the day is going), they will pop back out. It’s not really the point, though. Not anymore. The point is that he feels them itching under his skin, inside his being, venomous claws straining and pushing outward and reminding him of what they have caused. What _he_ has caused. He will surely get some relief out of cutting them off, as short-lived as it will be. And he deserves nothing more than that, after all. It _should_ be short-lived.

As silently as he can, he leaves the glass on the armrest of the couch and walks past Amenadiel to get to the box. His brother doesn’t seem to notice him open and close it, the curved demon blade now tucked in Lucifer’s hand. He manages to make it to the first step that leads to the bedroom and bathroom before the angel speaks.

“Where do you think you’re going, Luci?”

Lucifer spins around, the knife now hidden behind his back.

“Just, uh... just need a quick shave, is all" he answers with a small smile (it’s not entirely false, is it?). Amenadiel shuts the book in his lap, puts it aside and stands up to walk toward him, frowning.

“Show me what you have in your hand” he demands, as if it’s any of his _business_, as if he could ever understand, and Lucifer snaps – which might be just what he needs, he realizes: someone to yell at. His brother always seems to be the first in line to fill this particular position, somehow.

“_Make_ me" he growls, his eyes flashing red, before taking another step up toward the bedroom. As expected, Amenadiel tackles him to the floor at the base of the steps and tries to wrench the knife out of his grip, while Lucifer keeps it out of his reach by outstretching his arm above his head on the ground.

“Give me that, Lucifer!” Amenadiel shouts, suddenly gripping him by his chin with the hand that isn’t trying to retrieve the object. “How is hurting yourself going to help Trixie, mm? Get it together, brother!”

Lucifer pauses his movements at that, his chest heaving with rugged breaths under the weight of Amenadiel’s body. He clenches his jaw and lifts his head up threateningly to wrestle himself free, but Amenadiel tightens his grip and slams him back down. Lucifer could try harder, of course. Make it be over real quick, throw him across the room and get on with it – _chop-chop and Bob’s your uncle_. But come to think of it, maybe a good old beating by his dear brother will make him forget just as easily, and in less time than it’s necessary to angle the blade right by looking at his back in the bathroom's mirror.

_Come on, make him hurt you. You deserve it._

For the first time in a while, he thinks maybe he should listen.

He lets go of the knife, discarding it on the floor, and swings a punch at Amenadiel’s face. His brother’s reflexes must have improved recently, though (or Lucifer is just an uncoordinated, desperate mess, which is more likely), because he blocks Lucifer’s fist before it can hit him and closes his hand around his wrist.

“_Lucifer_” he scolds, his eyes reduced to two thin lines. Lucifer’s eyes flare a brighter shade of red.

“Hit me, brother, I know you want to" he says through gritted teeth, his jaw starting to ache under the other celestial's unforgiving hold. But the pain is not nearly enough.

“No, _you_ want me to" Amenadiel realizes, pushing his arm back on the floor before staring down at him with that enraging, infuriating look of pity mixed with understanding that Lucifer can’t stand the most out of all his sanctimonious expressions.

“_Please_, Amenadiel" he crumbles, feeling his face scrunch up under his brother’s fingers. “Please, I just-"

The vibration of his phone in his pocket, incredibly loud in the silence of the penthouse, startles them both. Amenadiel senses that Lucifer plans on checking it (given the situation, he can’t afford not to), so he lets him go and sits down on the floor next to him, exhaling a tired sigh. Lucifer, still lying down, takes the phone out and looks at the screen. It’s a text from Chloe.

_I'm sorry about how I acted. I was angry, and scared. Trixie is getting worse and I think I need to call Dan. I can’t do it without you. Please, come back._

Lucifer stares at it wordlessly, only partially relieved by her apology. _Trixie is getting worse._

_I'm on my way_, he replies with no hesitation, before stuffing the device back in his pocket.

“The Detective needs me" he tells Amenadiel, pushing himself off the floor and pointedly ignoring the ache in his jaw before continuing. “Keep looking, if you think it will help.”

He can feel his brother’s eyes on him as he walks to the table to put the demon blade back inside the box and take his car keys. Lucifer retrieves his jacket from the back of the couch and puts it on, then starts heading for the elevator.

“I’m thinking of flying to the Silver City, actually" Amenadiel says quietly, defeated (Lucifer knows he'd rather not draw any attention to himself, considering Charlie’s existence is frowned upon by their siblings). “Maybe someone up there will know what to do. Maybe Father will answer me, if I ask nicely.”

Lucifer scoffs and presses the button.

“Good luck with that" he chuckles bitterly, without turning around.

*

Chloe’s eyes are red-rimmed when she opens the door and ushers Lucifer inside.

“Hi" she tells him before hugging him tightly, her arms around his neck. Lucifer closes his eyes and wishes he could make her melt into him, so he could soak up all of her pain like a sponge. At this point you'd think he was full to the brink, but he isn’t. He can virtually live forever, but Chloe cannot, and he wants her short lifespan to be _better_ with him in it, not worse. For a moment there, he had pulled it off.

_Fool._

Chloe takes a step back to look at him, but doesn’t comment on his disheveled state or on the faint finger-shaped bruises under his stubble, assuming she can see them.

“I had Ella come by" she says to fill the silence, or maybe she really wants him to know. “She took a sample and pictures to discreetly ask for a few of her colleagues' opinions, but I don’t think theirs is the kind of help we need.”

_What they need is for you take the hint and leave, for good this time_, a voice stands out from the cacophony in his head, sounding suspiciously like his own when he commands demons to bow down. His shoulders itch again, a burning spark runs up his spine, his eyes sting with the urge to embrace the heat of the hellish fire within. He shuts it all off with a full-body shudder. Chloe frowns.

“Hey, are you-"

“Let’s call Dan" he announces, taking her hand to walk her to the living room area. On the couch, his black venom has now crawled up Trixie’s arm and past the short sleeve of her pyjama top, to stop right before her collarbone. A full-out concert of blaming notes almost erupts in his head at the sight, but he clenches his jaw and turns to look at Chloe and squeeze her hand as they settle down together on the couch opposite from the child. Chloe takes a nervous breath and dials Dan's number before setting the call on speaker.

The call is... well, it’s bad. In general, Daniel has certainly been the least understanding of the whole gang, but given the circumstances Lucifer can’t exactly blame him for saying that this could have been avoided, that this is what you get for welcoming the Devil in your house. He doesn’t like the implication that this is also Chloe’s fault, though, but the Detective doesn’t let him open his mouth for a good part of the conversation, yelling back at her ex husband for focusing on the least important detail of this situation: who to blame. As usual, she knows how to make her point, because even through the anger Dan eventually grows quiet.

“Is he there?” Dan asks after a moment, his voice quivering. This time, Lucifer beats Chloe to it.

“Yes, I am" he informs him, then takes pity on him when he hears an angry sound from the other end of the line and adds, “Don’t worry, Dan. With the Detective here, you’ll be able to punch me in the face without breaking your hand.”

He hopes the Douche didn’t take it as sarcasm, because it wasn’t. To his credit, the other man doesn’t disappoint.

“Oh, that is great news, _mate_, because I plan to.”

“This is so very helpful of you, truly" Chloe interjects, managing to glare at Dan even over the phone (and Lucifer is sure the other detective is also perfectly aware of it). “Just what Trixie needs right now: a macho contest.”

Lucifer looks away. Dan sighs deeply.

“I’m coming over" he says, before disconnecting the call.

Chloe decides to carry Trixie into her room so that Dan can have some privacy once he arrives. When that happens, Dan surprises him by showing more self-control than Lucifer himself would have shown if the roles were reversed: he simply glares at him as he walks by and goes straight for the child’s bedroom, followed by a silent Chloe. Lucifer stays within hearing distance but makes himself scarce. It’s not his place to step inside with them. Maybe it wasn’t his place to step inside their lives at all, and he doesn’t need the voices to wonder.

Realizing it’s almost lunch time, he makes himself busy by preparing them two grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen. The task keeps the flare ups at bay and his mind occupied with other sounds, which is good. He places the sandwiches on a tray, walks up to the child’s room's door and knocks softly. When Chloe emerges, sticking only her head out, he smiles at her and offers her the tray. She smiles back although it’s clear she’s been crying again, and kisses Lucifer on the cheek after taking the small lunch from his hands.

Lucifer hates how much he finds himself clinging to the gesture, selfishly wondering if things will stay the same between them if... no, but that’s not even up for debate. Even if Chloe was up for it, he wouldn’t do it to her.

_Too little, too late._

He doesn’t eat. Afternoon turns to evening and his cigarette pack is almost done at this point, so he puts it away in the inside of his jacket to make sure he will have a few more for the night. Amenadiel, Linda and Maze all text him as the day unfolds, letting him know they didn’t find a solution. Apparently, the few priests Linda managed to contact without freaking them out (how did _that_ go, exactly?) also happened not to have a clue about the mysterious venom of the devil.

The three of them ask Lucifer if they should come over, but he replies that it doesn’t seem like the appropriate time. If he has to be honest, he’s not even sure what he’s doing here, but the Detective asked him to stay, so he will stay, even if it will mean pacing across the living room in silence for a week to keep watch like some kind of guard dog.

His thoughts drift back to Trixie. _You should always like yourself, Lucifer. You are awesome_. Only now, he realizes that if he had learnt to truly follow and embrace such a simple advice, none of this would have happened. No self-hatred, no devil wings, no poisoning. And Trixie... she deserves so much more than this. She is innocence in a world of sinners, truth in a city of charlatans and impostors. His fierce, brave little urchin, who didn’t even scream at the sight of a pair of bat-like wings on his back. If only she had.

The sun is starting to set when Chloe’s head appears from the door and calls his name.

“You can come in if you want. Dan said it’s fine by him, too. But grab a chair if you want to sit.”

Lucifer does so in silence. He carries a chair inside the room and closes the door behind him, to find Chloe sitting at an angle on the bed with Trixie’s head propped up against her side, one hand smoothing her daughter’s hair over and over. Dan has his head in his hands next to her, sitting on a small chair facing the bed. Almost half of Trixie’s body is dark and scaled, the demonic disease spreading over her torso to spare her neck, her face and the hand she didn’t touch the wing with, for now.

When he positions the chair across from Dan's and sits on it, Lucifer mirrors his posture without even realizing it, planting his elbows on the mattress next to Trixie’s arm to bury his face in his palms. His hands rake over his hair furiously, nails digging into his scalp to hurt, taking advantage of the Detective's weakening presence. At this point, maybe he should just smack his head against a wall until he sees stars and then nothing more.

_Oh, you definitely should._

“I'm sorry, Beatrice” he whispers, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him as guilty tears well up in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He touches Trixie’s blackened arm with his forehead, crying softly. Suddenly, he hears a gasp from Chloe and tenses up, dreading what could have prompted such a startled reaction, terrified at the thought of seeing the child not breathing.

“Lucifer,” Chloe whispers in a tone that sounds like wonder, “Lucifer, look down.”

He slowly pulls back and turns his gaze downwards. He gasps like she just did at the sight he finds there.

The blackness on Trixie’s skin is dissipating from single tiny dots that seem to glow with the same otherworldly intensity of Lucifer’s angel wings: the exact points where his tears came in contact with her arm. The pink color of the girl’s complexion spreads outwards from the dots until the patches of healed, normal skin start to connect with each other. Slowly, the dark layer recedes under her shirt and every part of her body that is visible looks alive again, with human tissues and blood pumping underneath. They all look at each other in shock and relief, Dan’s hand coming up to cover his mouth as Chloe lets out something between a sob and a chuckle.

“Your tears, they... they bring _light_” she says, mesmerized, before her eyes widen at the realization, and so do Lucifer’s.

They bring light. _He_ brings light.

He is not the Venom of God, not entirely, not _just_. He is the Lightbringer, the son of the dawn, the morning star. Whatever evil he can cause, he can also cure. He is light, he is darkness, he is Heaven, he is Hell; he is all of it, he can _be_ all of it at the same time. He can be whoever and whatever he wants to be. The voices are wrong. They _lie_, and Lucifer can’t stand liars.

_Please, let there be light_, he thinks – the ghost of another bittersweet memory.

“I'm so hungry" a small voice pipes up. “Can someone get me Italian gelato?”

“Monkey!” Chloe exclaims, pressing her daughter’s face close to her chest to hunch over her and kiss her hair. “Baby, you’re okay!”

“How do you feel, honey?” Dan asks her, squeezing her hand in his as the other quickly rubs at his puffed up eyes. Trixie seems confused by all the fussing, and laughs breathlessly once her mother releases her enough for her to answer.

“Great! I just feel like I slept for _forever_, like Sleeping Beauty!” she declares. “Why isn’t anyone getting up to go buy me gelato? Pretty please, dad! I'm starving!”

Dan laughs and lifts her from the bed to hug her, rocking her against his chest on the chair for a moment. Lucifer feels a sense of relief that is impossible to put into words at the discovery that Trixie didn’t endure any suffering, that she doesn’t even know what happened. He finds Chloe’s hand on the mattress and she squeezes his hard. Lucifer brings it to his lips briefly to kiss it, then nods at her and leaves the room quietly, giving the three of them a moment.

Once he closes the door behind him, he walks to the living room window and lights himself a cigarette, just to get the residual anxiety out of his limbs with a few long drags. But now that he's alone again, doubts start creeping in, clouding his judgement like the smoke coming out of his mouth.

Chloe and Dan were so scared. That was still his fault. And what if Chloe had not asked him to join them in the room? What if he had not cried on Trixie’s skin, but farther away? Theirs was pure luck. Should he really be rewarded for it? Should he feel any less guilty?

_No_.

He can’t will away the redness from his skin when he feels it starting to crawl upwards from the tips of his free hand's fingers, so he just hides the hand in his pocket, his forehead leaning against the window frame. He closes his eyes and tries to remember that he has done good things too, that he has also brought happiness to this family and the humans in his life. They are very similar to panic attacks, these flare ups, and Linda has taught him very useful breathing exercises that he puts in practice now.

By the time Dan walks to the front door (Lucifer isn’t sure if he’s going home or if he’s actually going to try and find gelato at this hour), Lucifer’s left hand is still red and hidden. Dan gives him a nod that looks grateful, but Lucifer wouldn’t be so sure – plus he can’t expect for his lucky discovery to be enough. He nods back in acknowledgment and takes another drag as he watches him leave.

“Hey" Chloe says when she appears at his side a few minutes later, startling him. He is in the middle of his second cigarette now.

“Hey" he replies, smiling at her tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“I am now" she smiles back. “I am so glad she’s fine. I was so scared.”

Lucifer swallows, averting his gaze from her to stare out the window. Darkness is covering the world like a blanket now, like his poison on Trixie's skin. He shivers, burying his hand further inside his pocket.

“I know. Me too. I... I think it’s best if I go, now. Let me finish this and I'll be out of your way, Detective.”

He can feel her staring at him, and knows her forehead is creased in confusion (or dare he hope, disapproval?) without having to look at her.

“You are such an idiot sometimes" she finally says, shaking her head. Despite everything, her bluntness amuses him.

“I beg your pardon?”

She crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s over, Lucifer. Trixie is safe. You can stop blaming yourself now.”

He scoffs and looks away again. How can she make it sound so _easy_? Her child almost _died_. Why isn’t she angry? Why isn’t she kicking him out screaming?

“Remember when I said that I am poison to anyone who dares to care about me?” he asks her, finally discarding what is left of the cigarette because it’s clear he’s too distracted at this point. “Don’t you see how right I was? I mean in the _literal_ sense, Chloe. Who knew, eh?”

He sees her eyes fill with pain at the memory, and reminiscing isn’t easy for him, either, but he has to let it out. He has to make her understand how dangerous he is. He holds the antidote inside himself as well as the venom, but... is it right of him to ask her to take the risk?

_No._

Chloe steps closer and puts one hand on his shoulder.

“Listen, I won’t lie to you. This new piece of information about you is... well, kind of terrifying. But we figured out how to deal with it, as always. And your devil wings appear only in your sleep now. You’re doing great with Linda and in time, I'm sure they’ll just go away.”

He grits his teeth before answering. Part of him almost wants to scare her; the other one wants her to wrap him in her arms and tell him he’s forgiven. And he knows he is. He’s just having a hard time believing it. He had come so far and now he feels like he has taken ten step backwards in one day.

“I can feel them, you know?” he says, and her hand tenses on his shoulder. “I learned how to sense them without having to see them. I know how they are, right now. If I concentrate long enough, I can feel their claws poking at my back from the inside.”

Chloe steps closer and places her other hand on his cheek, grounding him.

“It’s been a long day, for everyone. You can ask Linda to see you for a special session tomorrow. You can get through this, Lucifer. _We_ can get through this.”

And he’s starting to believe it, he is, but...

“But what until then?” he asks out loud. “What do we do until it gets better?”

This gives Chloe pause for a moment, but soon, she looks determined again – the look he loves the most on her.

“We'll tell Trixie to never touch them again, or lock the bedroom door, or both" she shrugs. Lucifer reaches up with his normal hand to gently pry hers away from his face and hold it between them.

“What about you, Detective? What if I move in my sleep and sting you like a bloody scorpion, mh?”

She actually laughs at that, which is a welcomed sound, but so not what Lucifer was expecting.

“Then you’ll have a good cry on me" she jokes, her eyes playful and bright. “See? I'm good at solving problems once I know what I’m dealing with. You’re just standing there looking pretty while I do all the work. Which, now that I think about it, is what you _always_ do.”

Lucifer can’t help but chuckle, feeling lighter. The voices are now quiet and forgotten, so much so that he distractedly lifts the hand he has kept hidden in his pocket to brush a strand of Chloe’s hair away from her forehead. He freezes in mid-air, watching as her eyes widen. Then, silently, Chloe brings his red hand to her lips and kisses the center of his ravaged palm.

“_Chloe_.”

“Come to bed, Lucifer" she urges, before kissing the back of it. “I made Trixie a sandwich but I don’t even have the strength to eat, myself. We both deserve to rest.”

He almost complies, but he still wants to get his body in check before following her, at least on the outside.

“Just... just give me a few more minutes alone” he replies. Chloe doesn’t seem too happy but she smiles encouragingly.

“Okay" she says, then steps even closer and kisses him on the lips. Lucifer clutches at her hair with his good hand, letting go of the pained breath he didn’t know he was holding in his chest. He kisses back with sudden desperation before relaxing, letting her pull his lips into her mouth sweetly. She parts from him with one last little peck and heads for her bedroom upstairs.

_Coward. Idiot. Weakling. Liar._

Lucifer presses his palms against his temples and closes his eyes, frustrated. _Just leave me alone_.

He still has his eyes closed several minutes later (he can’t tell how many), when something tugs at his trousers from the ground.

“Hey, Lucifer?” comes Trixie’s voice. Lucifer jumps on the spot and quickly hides his hand behind his back. The Detective’s offspring is staring up at him with those big eyes of hers, looking as bubbly and awake as ever. He forces himself to look calm and collected when in truth, he’s barely holding it together now that he can see her standing on her own two feet again.

“Hello, urchin. Tell me.”

Trixie lets go of his trousers and asks, “So, were you the one who saved me?”

He freezes. Does this mean she _felt_ it? Did she hear everything they have been saying? Does she actually know what her body went through?

“From- from what, child? I thought you said you just slept for a long time.”

A very focused expression blossoms on the girl's face, as if she’s trying to find the right words to explain. Lucifer waits with his breath stuck in his throat.

“I did, but... it was a weird kind of sleep. Like I had my eyes open, but everything around me was so dark that it was the same as keeping them closed. So I started walking and I walked and walked and walked, until I saw a beam, like a lighthouse. But it had the shape of a man with wings, so I followed him thinking it had to be you. It _was_ you, right?”

He suddenly realizes the sneaky little minx kept this secret from her parents not to worry them. Maybe he should give her even more credit than he already does. He smiles proudly at her, and distantly starts to feel like this pride could also be directed at himself for guiding her. Like a beam in the darkness, as she said.

“Yes, it was, Beatrice. Turns out my tears have magical powers. Even after millennia of existence you never stop learning something new, apparently.”

The spawn's face splits into a grin so wide it’s actually a bit unsettling.

“You have magic tears? That is so cool! You are like Rapunzel!”

“The German fairy tale from 1812?” he inquires, not recalling any mention of healing tears. Maybe he should check again – he should have an original copy of one of the Grimm brothers' collections of stories in his penthouse. Trixie frowns.

“No, the princess from the Disney movie" she corrects him, then beams again. “Do you think your hair is magical, too?”

“Well, it’s certainly marvellous, dear, but no, I don’t think so” he replies. “But seriously, stop comparing me to random princesses, child. It’s unbecoming.”

Trixie sticks out her tongue at him, and he does the same. The more he talks to her, the more he feels like himself again. She is alright. Maybe, everything else will be alright, too. The voices seem to agree, because they haven’t spoken since this new conversation started.

“Fine" the offspring concedes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then I'll be Snow White and you can be the prince who woke me up.”

Lucifer smiles at that. But for some reason, he feels a bit sad when he answers her to gently shake her out of her imaginative comparisons.

“I'm just me, Beatrice. Your faithful guardian Devil” he tells her. _And I can only hope it’s enough._

The girl tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

“No, silly. You are my very own guardian angel.”

Clearly convinced she just made her point, Trixie doesn’t even wait for his reply before turning around and padding back toward and inside her bedroom, leaving him there in front of the window with his mouth slightly parted. Lucifer smiles to himself, sceptical. Can it really be this easy? Can he see himself like Trixie’s Azrael, in a way? Well, he did save her. From himself, or a part of himself he didn’t know existed. A part he would certainly use to protect her, if necessary. Protect Chloe. Protect anyone he cares about.

After all, he’s done pinning stars to the sky. Maybe all he needed was to know he still has light to give.

When he brings his hand back in front of him, his skin is his again. When he goes to bed and falls asleep in Chloe’s arms, there is quiet in his dreams.

And when in the morning he wakes up to a new day, the shadow over the nightstand has the shape of feathers.


End file.
